His Strength
by Rezicca
Summary: She was his angel, his strength. She gave him hope again. He loved her. And then she was taken away. But she's never truly gone. A drabble I completed at 3 in the morning. France/Jeanne


**AN: So it's 4:30 ish in the morning on a Friday. I have to get ready for school in two hours. Was up all night doing homework, and decided to type this up. I wrote it during chemistry today. It's just a drabble, nothing special, but I hope you enjoy it. **

He ran as fast as his legs would carry him, not noticing the crumbled city around him. The center, the heart, he had to get to the heart of the city. Maybe he could still stop it.

His heart pounded in his chest and his breath came in sharp gasps, but he ignored the pain. He ignored the burning in his legs and paid no attention to the stitch in his side.

A crowd had already gathered in the heart of the city around a pyre that was still being assembled. Peasants, commoners, nobles, aristocrats. Merchants, farmers, blacksmiths, knights. People she had fought for. People she had tried to liberate.

He stood there, watching the whole crowd with a sick smirk on his face. He had done this. He had ordered this. He would see it through.

France spotted the green-eyed nation at once and rushed to the man, gripping a simple wooden rosary as he begged for her to be spared. Humbling himself to his enemy, pleading, begging. It was shameful, but what did it matter?

"The girl is a heretic, a witch," came the response, the only reason they had ever given. They didn't know. They didn't know a thing about her. She was their hope; she was his hope, his strength. She would be brought out soon, when the pyre was completed.

"S'il vous plait," he begged, but to no avail. He was ready to offer anything, everything. But what could he offer? He couldn't die in her place. But he would if he could. He couldn't save her. The weight of it hit the battered country as he watched his enemy walk away. He couldn't save her. He couldn't do anything but pray.

The sound of heavy boots on dirt reached his ears. He turned, and a group of knights and a priest were escorting her to the pyre, to her execution. He squeezed the rosary in his hands as he rushed to her.

"Jeanne!" He cried. She stopped, as did the guards around her. He wasted no time in reaching her, although he expected to be beaten away by the knights. They did nothing, only watching as he cupped her face, her beautiful soft face, with a trembling hand, staring into brilliant blue eyes that showed no fear. She was so brave, he remembered. So beautiful and so brave.

"Je suis tellement désolé," he whispered again and again, so that only she could hear. Her eyes may have shown no fear, but his were filled with tears that threatened to spill over.

"Je me suis battu pour vous. Je vous ai fait fort à nouveau. N'ai-je pas?" Uncertainty flickered briefly across her beautiful face.

"Oui," he responded, throwing a cautious glance at the guards as he stroked her cheek with his thumb.

"Puis j'ai fait mon devoir," she breathed. The guards began to pull her away from him, towards the fire that awaited her.

"Je t'aime," He whispered before they could pull her away, gripping the rosary in his hands tighter as he leaned down and kissed her.

"Je t'aime aussi," she responded before being pulled away by the guards to the stake. He fell to his knees, gripping the simple rosary as he prayed rapidly in French.

The fire was ignited three times, burning her completely. She was gone. It was as if she had never been there. He couldn't breathe, he couldn't cry. Everything hurt. And those green eyes, those sinister green eyes laughing at him…

France jerked awake, trembling as he lay on his back and stared at the ceiling. Still those dreams. Always those dreams of his angel, his strength, his hope. She was long gone, but he could still smell her.

He blinked, sighing as tears fell down his cheeks. He reached up a hand to wipe them away, releasing the simply wooden rosary that he had forgotten that he had held.

He stared at the simply design, the smooth wood. So old…he opened the palm of his hand to gaze at the imprint it had left.

A small smile formed on his face as more tears fell. Proof that she had been there, proof that she has existed, had given him strength and hope.

/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/

_S'il vous plait_ – Please

_Je suis tellement__désolé_ – I'm so sorry

_Je me suis battu__pour__vous__. __Je vous ai fait__fort__à nouveau__. __N'ai-je pas?_ – I fought for you. I made you strong. Didn't I?

_Oui_ – Yes

_Puis__j'ai__fait__mon__devoir_ – Then I did my duty

_Je t'aime__aussi_ – I love you too

If any of this is incorrect, please let me know. I don't speak a word of French, unfortunately.

Please review and let me know what you thought!


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